


Something in the Night

by handyhunter



Category: Astonishing X-Men, Uncanny X-Men, X-Men (comicsverse), X-Men First Class - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handyhunter/pseuds/handyhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott's dreams are strange and involve Logan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something in the Night

Before Scott turns around, he knows Logan is there. It is probably the smell of sweat and grease, not to mention the stomp of his boots, that gives him away. Logan spends entirely too much time stalking Scott in his bedroom.

"Don't touch that," says Scott, mostly out of habit. Logan is poking through some of Emma's hair products. "On second thought, go ahead and you can deal with Emma."

Logan inhales deeply. "I thought they were yours."

Scott carefully places the thirty-third pair of ruby quartz glasses he just cleaned into the appropriate container. Strange how it never seems to fill up. "Is there something you wanted?"

Logan smiles, a little dangerously, and pops his claws. Scott doesn't think. His hand is on his visor and Wolverine is flying through the window, propelled by a bright red force that would obliterate everything in its path, given the chance. Scott follows him outside. He doesn't hurry; this is a fight they've had before.

Something else is happening, though, and Logan is gone. How unsporting of him. Scott is also wearing his old, old uniform, the one he had when it was just the five of them.

There's a fire in the distance, close enough that the air is thick with smoke and flying embers. When the wind shifts, it brings ashes with it; there's a fine covering of the stuff all around him, like snow gone horribly wrong. It burns and stings and scratches. He looks up to tell Angel to land - he shouldn't be flying in this weather - but the skies are empty. The rest of his team is gone too. This should worry him -- that it _doesn't_ should also worry him, but this thought is pushed to the back of his mind.

Something at the edge of the clearing catches Scott's eye. Wolverine. His costume is singed and tattered, and he's not alone. There's someone in his arms. A woman, wearing a dark dress; maybe red, maybe black, Scott can't tell. He thinks she might have red hair. His breath catches, and it's not because of the smoke. He tries to yell Logan's name, but his throat won't work. He runs after them, but can't ever catch up; they remain exactly the same distance apart, Wolverine marching himself and Jean into some fiery unknown. He runs until his eyes sting and his feet give out.

And then Wolverine is there, steadying him. They're wearing civilian clothing now.

"Where's Jean?" Scott says, surprised to find his voice steady. The air quality has improved, though it's possible they're no longer in Westchester, Scott thinks, given that he and Logan are standing on a rocky precipice overlooking a large lake.

Logan gives him a strange look, but doesn't hold his gaze for long. He looks at his claws, gleaming in the sun, instead. "She's dead, Slim."

Scott wants to punch the other man -- what right does _he_ have to grieve? -- but he doesn't -- it's not what an X-Man does -- and pulls off his glasses instead, firing an optic blast into the water...

...But the water isn't water anymore, and he's blasting a hole through Logan's midsection, or would be if the blast weren't going right through the other man perched at the foot of his bed. Scott shuts his eyes and fumbles for his sleeping goggles...visor...glasses..._anything_.

"Why are you here?" he demands, once he's found his visor. "It's the middle of the night."

Logan shrugs. "You tell me."

They're in Scott and Jean's old room. The same room he and Emma share-- will share-- had shared... before they move to San Francisco. Jean's picture smiles at him from across the room, and he shudders. "I can't do this."

Logan leans forward -- when had he moved? -- and raises a hand towards Scott's temple. He flinches, but instead of metal, Logan's fingers tap the side of his head. "Sure you can. Just open your eyes."

Scott braces himself and does as he's told. Same room, different furniture. The bed's facing the larger window now. Logan is peering at him curiously. "Huh," he says. "Your eyes are brown."

"What else would they be?" Scott means to say, but then Logan's hand is on his bare chest -- whoa, no clothes; he hadn't noticed he was naked until now -- and Logan's lips are on his. The hair on his face is scratchy and unfamiliar, but not unappealing, and his fingers have slipped lower...

"Ahh, cold! Cold hands!" Scott opens his eyes in disbelief: Logan's features are blurring and then sharpening to diamond form. In his place sits Emma Frost, with one chilly hand in his lap. Scott resolutely does not think of the time Emma turned _him_ into Logan while he was kissing her. That's just too many levels of...something he'd rather not think about.

"What stage of grieving is this?" She says it pleasantly, as if she were asking about the weather.

"...Emma?"

"So now you remember me," she says, and he wakes up.

Their San Francisco bedroom is still dark and a little bare; they haven't had time to decorate. He settles his glasses more firmly on his nose, not trusting his control. A small breeze flutters the curtains and feels good on his heated skin. He turns his head to look at Emma, lying too still next to him to be asleep. She looks back at him.

She speaks first. "This bed's too small to fit Logan. And Jean," she adds, like an afterthought.

"I...uh," Scott searches for the right words, or any words at this point. "Sorry?" _I was dreaming, I didn't mean it._

_Of course you did._ "But _I'd_ prefer not to entertain such feelings for Logan, so if you must - and you were, mmm, quite loud in your dream, psychically, I mean - perhaps you could..." She waves her hand in what Scott interprets as the general direction of elsewhere.

"But...you and I?"

"Well that hasn't changed." Emma closes her eyes and that ends the discussion.

Scott stays in bed for a few more minutes, not entirely sure what to do, before he takes himself and his pillow out to the couch once again. There isn't a blanket, so he pulls one of the cushions over himself; it's not cold out, but he likes the weight of it. He's sort of just getting comfortable when Logan walks by, an open bottle of beer in his hand. He raises an eyebrow at Scott, and Scott clutches his cushion tightly.

"Summers."

"Hi, Logan," says Scott, hoping his voice doesn't betray him and he doesn't accidentally blurt out, _I think my girlfriend just gave me permission to sleep with you, but I'm not 100% sure about that and was too scared to ask._ It is probably a good thing Logan isn't a mind-reader.

"She kicked you out again, huh?"

Scott sits up, wishing he thought to grab a shirt, though at least his pajama bottoms are intact. "Emma didn't _kick_ me out," he says, aware of how defensive he sounds. "Why are you awake?"

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd watch the game."

"Oh, okay." Scott sits up and pats the cushion back in its place along the back of the couch.

Logan fiddles with the TV and a bunch of wires. "Kids better not have recorded over it."

"I think you're safe," Scott remarks dryly. "I'm not sure they know what a VCR is." Logan doesn't reply; he just pats the VCR fondly when it finally turns on and the sound of a cheering crowd fills the room. He makes his way across the room and sits down next to Scott. The couch squeaks under his weight.

"Don't say it." Logan lifts the beer bottle to his mouth.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Scott watches the other man's movements, and thinks maybe he should have a longer talk with Emma. "What are we watching anyway?"

**Author's Note:**

> They are, of course, watching the Stanley Cup finals.


End file.
